Spikes
by Fierceawakening
Summary: Starscream expects his punishment to go as they usually do. He quickly becomes suspicious when Megatron's shockstick is set on low, as Megatron isn't one for mercy. But what could he be planning? Rated M for BDSM, some rather gory threats, and sticky.


Starscream eyed the shockstick warily. Megatron had tuned it to a low setting, and that made no sense at all. There were only two reasons Megatron could have called him here. The first would be to punish him, in which case leaving the stick on low was counterproductive. The second would be to use the pretense of punishment for... other activities, in which case leaving the stick on low was also counterproductive. Starscream had always savored pain. Especially when it came from the favorite instrument that Megatron saved to use on him alone.

So what in the galaxy did he have in mind? Right now, Megatron paced, silent, his optics bright as he turned them on the Seeker bound to his wall. His mouth plates were curled in a glistening scowl, no less intimidating than Megatron's usual glower.

But the shockstick in his hand crackled feebly, the bolts of lightning that would normally wreathe it in a cloud of ozone and energy periodically flickering over its surface. It looked pathetic, and Starscream hastily muted a giggle at how serious and intense Megatron looked holding a half-powered weapon.

"Something amusing, Starscream?" Megatron asked, stopping his pacing and walking toward him.

Starscream kept an optic on the shockstick, his wings twitching. "Perhaps, mighty leader," he sneered.

He tensed as Megatron's free hand reached out for him, aware from long experience of the damage those broad black fingers could do. But Megatron didn't appear to be in the mood to damage him. His hand traced its way down Starscream's shoulder vent, over a chest turbine, and down his abdomen toward his interface panels.

Grinning, Starscream shuttered his optics. Apparently his leader was in the mood for fun tonight. Well, that was perfectly all right with -

"You stopped," Starscream hissed, irritated. Megatron's hand lay just above the panel that covered his valve, tantalizing but not touching.

What did Megatron want? When he wanted Starscream to open for him, he usually simply commanded it. If Starscream opened too soon, it would usually earn blows, whether from Megatron's fists or from -

- the shockstick. Which was currently set on low.

This time Starscream made no attempt to hide his peal of laughter as he slid his panel aside. The cool air felt good on his exposed valve, almost as good as Megatron's hand sliding over his plating had, and he felt lubricant begin to seep from his now-open valve in anticipation.

Megatron's scowl deepened. "Cover that up, you wanton little fool. I'm not interested in it."

Starscream's processor reeled as though Megatron had just struck him. The gears in his jaw whined as his mouth fell open in astonishment. "But - but Megatron - !"

Starscream had never known Megatron to respond with distaste to his valve. To refuse him, perhaps, for discipline or for one of his elaborate little games. But never to order him to close, to scoff at it as though it were distasteful, or unclean, or any such thing. Megatron had always delighted in Starscream's valve and, much preferring to use his spike than to be spiked himself, had always appreciated finding a mech that preferred using his valve to -

His spike.

Megatron's fingers were resting just above his valve cover, splayed against the cover of his spike.

"You can't be serious," Starscream sputtered.

"Close the other cover and open this one," Megatron answered, implacable.

Starscream twitched. Close it? Megatron had called him here for fun and expected him to spend their entire tryst with _nothing _stimulating his valve? That was absurd. That was an outrage.

"No," he answered.

He expected Megatron to turn up the shockstick and lay into him - hit his wings, perhaps, or his legs. Instead Megatron lifted his free arm, pointing his cannon directly at Starscream. The air crackled with energy as it roared to full power.

"Are you really interested in losing a wing, Starscream?" Megatron asked, his voice mild.

"No!" Starscream shrieked, his wings clicking a desperate cadence. "No - no - of course not, my lord. But what could you possibly want with my spike?"

Megatron took a step back, but did not lower his arm. Mesmerized, Starscream stared at the lavender light filling the barrel of the cannon. Even after so many vorns, he'd never quite managed to learn how to look away.

Then the tyrant spoke, distracting Starscream. He turned his head, frantic to get that hypnotic, deadly light out of his processor, and willed himself to focus on Megatron's words.

Unfortunately for him, they contained nothing but another taunt. "If you haven't already figured it out, you'll just have to find out, won't you?"

"Fine," Starscream spat, fighting back a whimper as he slid his valve cover closed. Lubricant still seeped from the seams, and he tried not to think of how wasteful Megatron was being as he retracted the cover of his little-used spike.

As wet as his valve was, his spike had only halfway pressurized. He didn't know what Megatron wanted, and he never used the silly thing anyway. As spikes went, it was long enough but fairly thin, and he usually had no trouble convincing his partners that his valve would be both more responsive and more enjoyable for everyone involved.

Still, Megatron wanting his spike at least meant he would overload. Eventually. He hissed again, then quieted as Megatron lowered his cannon and reached for the newly-exposed prize.

Megatron grabbed it, not gently. Starscream gave a small, startled cry, but soon arched his hips into the dark hand moving over him. It felt good, but not nearly as good as Megatron's fingers in his valve would have. He thrust hard into Megatron's hand, wanting more friction, more sensation, anything at all to make up for how strange this was, how wrong, how _not what he really wanted, and what did that glitch who called himself his leader think he was doing, not putting those fingers in his valve where they belonged -_

Then Megatron stopped.

The Seeker wailed as the dark hand withdrew.

Megatron raised the shockstick. Lightning crackled over it, still faint. Starscream's spike, fully pressurized by now, twitched.

"You couldn't seriously be thinking of - _ahhh!_"

His frame convulsed as the shockstick made contact with the thin metal of his spike, sending jolts of electricity through the delicate plating and the circuitry beneath.

"Are you glitched?" Starscream screeched, twisting away from Megatron.

The other mech smiled, grabbing one of Starscream's shoulder vents and forcing him back around to face him again. "I think not," he said, pointing down at Starscream's spike.

Which rose again as the shockstick glowed with energy.

Starscream cursed. Megatron wasn't hitting him hard, no, not the way he usually would with less sensitive parts of his frame, but this was ridiculous.

He could understand if it were his valve, lubricating even to this, an automatic reflex in response to _Megatron and pain_. But Megatron wasn't using his valve, or hitting some spot on his frame that had long ago become accustomed to hard use by his lord. Starscream's own body was betraying him. He shrieked a string of invective as Megatron raised the shockstick again.

Undeterred by the audio-splitting yowls of outrage, Megatron smirked and struck Starscream harder. The Seeker's hips jerked, his spike still twitching in indecision.

His valve cover, however, glowed, bright pink energon leaking from its seams.

He cursed, hissing and spitting, as Megatron landed another blow, and another, and another. All of this - this agony, this stimulation - so close to his valve! He could feel the sensor nodes inside it hum to life in anticipation, dumbly expecting that Megatron's spike would be next, driving deep and pressing against them all, sending the most hidden parts of him roaring to life.

But instead there was only this. This electricity, shivering through the wrong nerves, searing them again and again. These blows, agonizing against such a sensitive, small target. They hurt, in that way only Megatron could make things hurt, that way that called him back from whatever current of sensation he wanted to drift away on and forced him to pay attention.

He tossed his head to clear it, staring at Megatron. The bigger mech's interface equipment was still covered. How much the spike hidden under that cover had pressurized, Starscream couldn't guess. And without knowing that, he had no way of knowing how long his leader would want to play this painful, frustrating, and embarrassing little game.

He smirked, riding another wave of agony. He might not know what Megatron intended, but he did know how to make sure that this damnable waiting would take its toll on both of them.

He widened his optics, opening his dark mouth and gasping. "Lord Megatron -" he whined, his turbines whirling. "Please -" He tilted his hips again, snarling inwardly as Megatron met them with another blow.

He clamped down the scream that built inside his vocalizer and willed himself not to pull away. "I - I need you -"

The hand holding the shockstick froze. Starscream writhed again, half to look enticing and half to distract himself from the fiery agonies crackling through his spike, dancing just barely near his valve.

Then he grinned. It was working; Megatron's optics focused on him, their red depths searingly bright. They lingered on his interface equipment. Was it Starscream's spike he stared at, watching the last sparks of electricity crackle over it as it twitched, unsure whether to wilt or further pressurize?

He had to admit that thought intrigued him. He'd fantasized before about using his spike on Megatron. While he wouldn't usually have thought of such a thing, there was something delightful about the idea of pushing Megatron to the ground and shoving his spike inside _him _for a change, hearing _him _whimper, beg, and plead -

But now Megatron had ruined all that. Starscream's spike, though it hadn't wilted, ached like the Pit. How exactly would he use it now? He felt only a bright cloud of pain that left him barely aware what his own hydraulics were doing, except that it felt horrible and agonizing and damn it all, he wanted it, wanted _more_, but he wanted it someplace _sensible, _like his aft or his chest or his wings or - or inside him, where Megatron was _supposed _to want to be.

He fought the urge to glare back at the larger mech, concentrating on keeping his faceplates frozen in that inviting pout that even Megatron couldn't resist. His lip plates twitched as the long moment lengthened and the dark hand holding the shockstick made no move, neither to put it aside and be reasonable nor to hit him again.

"Begging already, Starscream?" Megatron's cooling fans whirred, but his voice was still damnably calm.

"If that's what you want, yes, you pompous, obsolete piece of scrap," Starscream snapped, his seductive demeanor gone.

Megatron's optics flared again. This time, Starscream shivered, his wings twitching. That look didn't mean lust. Or if it did, it meant the kind that went after exactly what it wanted, heedless of Starscream's seductive little manipulations.

His hand flashed out to seize Starscream's spike, twisting until the Seeker gave an audio-shattering howl.

"What - what the hell are you trying to _do_?" he wailed, his turbines spinning as his spark seized with dread. "Tear it off?"

Megatron snarled and laughed. "That would get your attention, wouldn't it, Starscream? The others', too.

"It would remind anyone who ever saw it just where you belong." He twisted it again, sending signals of distress racing through the Seeker's sensornet. "Even you."

Starscream thrashed in his bonds. The Seeker knew from long experience that when Megatron focused on some sudden idea, he intended to be thorough about it. "But - but surely you don't want them to know - to see -!"

In a way, they knew already. Everyone guessed at their commanders' activities, and both Megatron and Starscream knew it. Some Decepticons, too brazen or too stupid to resist making vulgar remarks, would even taunt the Seeker as he made his way to the medbay after one of Megatron's punishments

But they never made the mistake of jeering at him in Megatron's presence. Anyone who did that called down swift, immediate, and violent revenge.

Starscream had to admit that made things easier. He'd face twice the mockery if Megatron ever decided to admit the obvious.

"What they know doesn't matter," Megatron growled.

Starscream ground his dental plates against one another so hard they sparked. "Then what _does _matter, oh mighty Leader? What exactly are you trying to prove?"

Megatron paused, deathly silent. Starscream's spike throbbed, aching from overstimulation and pain, and he trembled, biting back a whimper.

Then Megatron let go.

The Seeker's spike untangled into his cupped hand, and the sound he'd fought not to make came out of him, high and plaintive and halfway bereft.

"Megatron -" Starscream whined, moving his hips and pushing his spike into the other's open hand.

"That's better," Megatron murmured, wrapping his dark fingers around it and beginning to move. Starscream twitched as even the light touch reawakened sensors ravaged by pain. He shuttered his optics, willing himself to focus on the sensation that Megatron was giving him now. It was the closest thing to mercy he would ever get.

The tyrant's rasping voice called him back to himself. "But there is more to this than good behavior." Megatron's movement slowed, and Starscream whimpered. "Do you know what that is, Starscream?"

Starscream shivered, his spark swirling with dread as he recalled Megatron's threat to tear off his spike.

"I - I -" the Seeker stammered, his wings clicking in a frantic cadence.

Megatron smiled, a cold grin that gave no warmth. "I did it to remind you that every part of you is mine." His hand tightened around Starscream's spike, squeezing just tightly enough to send a new wave of pain cascading through the Seeker's sensornet. "Including the ones that even you forget."

Starscream's spark froze within his chest, its energy not daring to flicker. Megatron stared, his optics flaring the bright orange-red of molten metal. Starscream fought not to flinch, willing himself to meet that gaze.

"Yours," he answered, his high voice quiet, but clear.

The blazing optics narrowed, the silver mouth set in a grim line as Megatron considered.

Starscream's wings clicked in indignation. What more could he say? It wasn't like he'd lied. Not here, not now, when his sensornet blazed with torment and need.

Megatron's silver lip plates curled in a faint smile. Starscream cycled a heavy sigh of relief, slumping in his bonds as Megatron's hand moved over him again, setting all of the sensors in his spike flickering to tormented life.

Even now, Megatron was not kind, his grip too tight, his movements too rough. Starscream keened, so loudly he saw Megatron wince at the noise. A thin strand of satisfaction crackled through his spark at that. Even here, battered and exhausted and empty of all but his surrender and his need for it, he could still bite back at the one who'd claimed him.

He bucked, heat roaring through his plating as Megatron's fist moved over it.

Then there was his valve, still covered and yet so close, _so close _to those dark and brutal fingers. How could Megatron resist, ordering him to hide it away, ignoring it as if some lesson they would both forget anyway was more important than what they both wanted? He twisted and turned, but his gyrations brought his lord's fingers no closer to the core of his desire.

He struggled against his bonds, staring at the panel covering Megatron's interface equipment. Try as he might to hide himself away, Starscream could see lubricant trickling out from the seams holding his panel closed. If he could just get out of this, reach, touch, stroke - remind his leader why they both were really here -

But the image in his mind undid him, and hearing Megatron growl with pleasure at his responsiveness, he couldn't hold back any more. For a brief moment he fell still, and then he overloaded with a great cry, fluid spurting from his spike.

For a long moment, he knew nothing at all, his processor blanked white. Tremors shook his frame, all his control gone. He'd become a toy, a drone, a thing that moved only in response to the one who held him in his hand...

_Yours, _he thought, silent only because his vocalizer wouldn't obey him now. He'd meant the word before, yes, like he always did in these moments when Megatron ripped promises out of him. But that word was a vow, an assertion, a promise of loyalty he didn't want to make but had to.

This was a confession, stark and simple: right now, he was no longer his own. It made his spark seize with rage and fear. And, under it all, a strange contentment he could never understand when he came back to himself.

He looked down at Megatron's hand, stained with his emission. It glowed against Megatron's fingers, the faint purple fluorescence of energon making it gleam against the black. Starscream grinned, his reason returning

And with it, his defiance. He lifted his head as Megatron drew his hand away, forcing himself not to whimper at the loss.

"Mine," Megatron rasped.

Starscream's spark crackled in response to the voice, and he felt himself sinking back into that hated and beloved place where he moved only to the other's will. Gritting his denta, he forced himself not to fall again.

"Don't be so smug, _Leader_," he sneered, casting a pointed glance at Megatron's stained hand. "I've left my mark on you, too, at least for now."

Megatron snorted, but his gaze followed the other's. "Is that what you think, Starscream?"

Starscream smirked, his wings flicking in triumph. Megatron's spike was still in its housing. He'd have to be desperate for release after all _that_.

Which meant either that Starscream would get what he really wanted anyway, or that Megatron would be a fool and deny himself for the sake of teaching his wayward Seeker a "lesson" Starscream never intended to take to spark anyway.

"Of course it is, my lord." He twitched his wings in blatant insolence. "And I don't intend to let you forget it."


End file.
